


It's In The Contract

by Tay (erentitanjaeger)



Series: The Drug Cartel AU [4]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Bottom Shiro, Fluff, M/M, Mafia AU, SO MUCH FLUFF, Smut, Swearing, can you tell i've never been to italy lmao, i love writing fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-06
Updated: 2017-07-06
Packaged: 2018-11-28 08:34:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,966
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11414169
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/erentitanjaeger/pseuds/Tay
Summary: If they thought they'd never make it to the wedding, they certainly didn't think they'd ever make it to the honeymoon.  Shiro still holds an unquestionable amount of guilt for what he did to Keith; for leaving him behind like he did.  He can't imagine what Keith went through.  Yet here, now, he has a chance to make it right, to make Keith happy, even if he feels he doesn't deserve him.  He'll hold on for all he's worth until he's told to let go, and now that conviction just might be tested.





	It's In The Contract

**Author's Note:**

> Okay so I'm bringing this back from the grave and I have some very special people to thank for that.
> 
> So thank you to Ashly, Sochan and Reyna for being so sweet and encouraging me to write more of this ;; I'm still so shook so many of you wanted me to continue this.

Shiro opened the viewport on the camera, hitting the record button, letting it focus on the sleeping figure in front of him before walking slowly towards the bed.  He was quiet as he let the camera sweep over the body, making sure the image was crystal clear as it recorded a set of toned thighs, a (he knew) sculpted ass covered by a thin, cotton sheet, over a porcelain perfect back, rising and falling as the body slept on.  Shiro slowed before reaching its face.  That face.

That beautiful, perfect face, so pale it made his dark hair seem that much darker, his lips seem that much pinker.  They were especially red today, though that might have been from Shiro’s abuse of them last night.  Hair stirred as he breathed softly through his mouth, utter content etched in every feature of his face.

Shiro sighed, wanting very much to continue his Exploration of Keith Shirogane as he slept, but knew his footage would only be improved if his husband was conscious.  Still, watching Keith sleep, and peacefully might he add, was something Shiro never got tired of.  Something he felt deeply Keith deserved.

Shiro hesitated, lowering the camera slightly. 

It had only been a short while since he and Keith had been reunited.  A short while and they were already married, Keith was well on his way to becoming a valuable member to his cartel and they had plans to visit several large cities over the next few weeks.  It had all happened so fast.  Shiro having done everything in his power to make sure Keith could be happy in this life, yet Shiro still couldn’t shake the guilt.

It’s one thing to leave your lover for a year.  It’s another thing entirely to do so when your lover thought you to be dead, and wouldn’t be coming back.

Yes, they had talked it over.  Extensively.  Many nights did they lie awake, holding each other and discussing their deepest secrets, fears and regrets that had happened over the year they were apart.  Shiro had wanted nothing to stand between them, nothing that could disrupt the flow of their relationship should it come up at a later date. 

It had meant a few fights; one getting particularly loud and resulting in the rest of the team having to come in and break them up before things got out of hand.  It had meant breaking the trust they held in each other down to the very grout that had made them who they are as a couple, then rebuilding it all from scratch.

Yet Shiro would be lying if he said his conscious had been wiped completely clean.  If he still didn’t feel like the world’s most horrible human being for what he had done to the love of his life, if you could even call him a human at all.

It was at this moment that Keith stirred, pressing his face into the pillow, nuzzling further into it, adjusting his legs and then going still once again.  It put a smile back on Shiro’s face, to see his lover so relaxed after the Year of Hell he had put him through.

Then Shiro looked down at the camera in his hand, noticing it was pointed at the floor rather than at his far more interesting husband.

“Shit!” he cursed, ending the recording and checking back over his footage.  He had missed it.  He just had thirty seconds of floor and his own feet plus some rustling from when Keith had shifted.  No little movements done ever so cutely.  No soft sounds from Keith’s mouth.  No contented sigh heard from the speakers.  “Dammit,” Shiro cursed again.

“Mmm, babe?  What are you doing?”

And now Keith was awake.

Shiro quickly started a new video, aiming it as his husband, who was rubbing the sleep out of his eyes while looking up at Shiro with a quizzical look.  That look only furrowing further when he noticed the camera pointed at him.

“Morning, Babydoll,” Shiro said, reaching over to run a hand through Keith’s mussed hair.  He carefully combed out a knot, probably made last night when Keith had been writhing against him.  “How did you sleep?”

Keith hummed again, settling back into his pillow as he gazed up at Shiro.

“Good.  Really good,” was all he said.  Keith adjusted his head, so he was grinning at the camera as he spoke. “Even better after we woke up in the middle of the night and had that second round.  That blow job was fucking amazing.”

Shiro couldn’t decide whether he wanted to shout in joy for catching that on camera or dive into the sheets and shower his husband with love and praise. He opted for a messy combination of the two.

Keith laughed and squealed as Shiro landed on top of him, Shiro pressing hot kisses to any and all the skin he could reach, hooking an arm around Keith’s shoulders and clumsily kissing his mouth.  The camera was held in his other hand, aimed somewhat hazardously at their current position, but catching enough for anyone to realise that both men were in the midst of forgetting the world around them.  Keith had his arms locked around Shiro’s neck, kissing Shiro hard and hot, his legs wound around Shiro’s waist and his heels hooked against Shiro’s ass.

He eventually managed to extract himself from Keith’s death like grip, their lips separating with a loud pop.  He sat back on his heels, pointing the camera squarely at his husband’s face.  Keith continued to look up at him, hair fanned over the pillows, red and purple hickies on his chest prominent in the morning light leaking in through their hotel window.

“Again with the camera?” Keith asked, ignoring the lens pointed at him, keeping his eyes on Shiro.

“It was a gift,” Shiro explained.  “It would be rude not to use it.”

Keith laughed again.  Shiro could feel his heart skip a beat.  Thank God he was getting all of this permanently.

“I think Allura meant for us to use it to record our honeymoon.”

“I am recording our honeymoon?”

Keith kneed him in the side.

“I meant Rome, you dolt!  Allura wants to see the Coliseum and the Pantheon!  The Catacombs! Not my bare ass!”

“Allura can get footage of the Coliseum off YouTube, for Christ’s sake.  Where else will I be able to watch you laugh over and over again?” Shiro uses his free hand to stroke soft circles on Keith’s stomach with his thumb.  Keith’s abbs quiver under the touch.  “Or your face.  Your eyes.”

Keith scoffed, turning bright red. 

He never got used to Shiro’s utter adoration and praise.

“You could just, I don’t know, look at _me._ ”

“This is for when I’m forced to be away from you.”

“You’re allowed to watch porn, Shiro.  You don’t need a sex tape of us to jerk off while on assignment.”

Shiro pretends to gasp, to be offended. 

“I would _never!_ ”

Keith cackles, using his legs to drag Shiro down towards him.  Shiro follows the nudges and little hints, the camera all but forgotten as he bends down to give Keith a warm, sensual kiss.  Keith hums, separates, then kisses him again.  And again.  And again.  Shiro chuckles, stretching out and settling on top of the warm body, Keith placing a hand on his jaw as he does.

He has trouble keeping the camera pointed at Keith now that they’re so close, but he tries his hardest.  Eventually, he manages to prop the camera up on a pillow so it’s facing them, so he has both arms free to wind them around Keith and pull him tight to him. Keith only sighs, relaxing against Shiro’s side, closing his eyes and revelling in the moment of peace they’ve found themselves in. 

“What are you thinking about?” Shiro asks, calm and thoughtful, carefully pushing away a strand of hair that had been working its way toward Keith’s eye.

Keith hums again.

“You.  I’m always thinking about you.”

Shiro smiles, kissing Keith’s hair.

“Anything in particular about me?”

There’s a momentary pause.

“Your butt.  How good it looks in briefs.” Keith reaches over to aforementioned briefs now, awkwardly twisting his arm, reaching over Shiro’s hip so he can pat his butt.  “Mmmm, good butt.  My butt.”

Shiro can’t help but giggle. 

“Oh, and I don’t get a say in this?  You just declare a part of myself all yours and that’s it?”

Keith fully opens his eyes now, giving Shiro a condescending look.

“Duh,” he says so final like.  “It’s in our marriage contract.  Didn’t you read the fine print?  Honestly, Shiro!  You handle so much business on a daily basis; I only assumed you’d be good at it.”

Shiro tries not to grin so hard.  Grinning so much makes it harder to talk.

“Okay, so if you get my butt in our marriage-”

“- and your dick, and your balls and basically all aspects of your genital area.”

“So I get to keep my face?”

Keith finally rolls over at this, giving Shiro a peck on the lips.  They’re lying on their sides now, facing each other, the sheet still wound messily around Keith’s waste.  Shiro can see him waking slowly now, becoming more alert as they talk.

“Hell no.  That’s mine also,” Keith glances down.  “And so are your boobs.  Mmmm, yummy.” 

He dives in, nipping at Shiro’s chest and attempting to latch onto a nipple.  Shiro has trouble fighting him off, he’s laughing so hard.

“For arguments sake!” Shiro finally manages to wrangle Keith under control by rolling them over and lying on top of him again.  Keith doesn’t seem at all perturbed by the change in positions.  “For arguments sake, let’s say you get all of me.  Now what do I get?”

He’s looking at Keith’s face, at his mischievous eyes.  At his fluffy hair, now even more of a mess since their tumble.

“You,” Keith brings up a finger, tapping it against Shiro’s nose.  Boop.  “Get to carry my bags when I go shopping.”

Shiro only smiles at him, letting his limbs slide out from under him, resting his head on Keith’s chest.  Keith immediately goes to comb his hair, scratching the back of his neck, placing kisses to the white lock tickling his chin.

“And I do it gladly,” Shiro says.

\---

It’s closing in on noon before they decide they should actually explore the city and make better use of their time in a foreign country (and their camera).  They throw on pants and shirts, stuff everything they need into a small backpack and exit the hotel.  With the sun already so high, Keith realises he never packed his sunglasses and, after leaving Shiro to record a street performer juggling knives, ventures into a nearby store to purchase new ones.

Shiro watches through the viewport of the camera as the lithe man catches the last knife with his teeth, applauds as best he can with the rest of the crowd and heads into the store after Keith. 

The store is littered with the usual cliché souvenirs.  Tiny replicas of the coliseum, postcards of a few famous fountains, a few t-shirts with horrible sayings on them (that Pidge would probably love, Shiro notes).  He makes his way through the junk, stuffing the camera back into his backpack, eyeing several pairs of earrings that, though might be on the cheap side, would make a good present for Allura. 

He's deciding between opal and rose quartz when he hears Keith’s familiar laugh in the distance.  Shiro follows the sound toward the back of the store, and ultimately feels his blood freeze at the sight he’s met with.

A man is standing with Keith, far too close to him, pointing at the tiny mirror next to the glass’ stand, laughing as Keith is hit in the nose with the price tag attached to the pair he’s currently trying on.  They both giggle at the absurd sight of Keith in the bright, pink frames.  The man leans in even closer, presumably to get a better look at Keith in the mirror, though plasters himself to Keith’s side in doing so.

Shiro’s blood turns from ice to roiling so fast he can feel steam coming out of his ears.

“No, no!  These definitely suit you better!” The man is saying, flicking white, blonde hair out of the way as he adjusts the frames on Keith’s face.

“Really?” Keith cocks his head.  The price tag swings obnoxiously over his nose.  “’Cause I think I was pulling of the rhinestones pretty well there.”

They both laugh.

Shiro has to consciously unclench his fists and take three deep, calming breaths before he can approach his husband, though immediately winds his arms around Keith’s frame and drags him a good two or three very wide paces back from the offending man.

“Hi, Gorgeous,” Shiro says, nuzzling into Keith’s hair.  He then turns to the man, who is now looking at the both of them with an expression Shiro knows all too well. 

“Shirogane,” he says, like they’re friends meeting after a very long time apart.  “Good to see you in this great city.  Didn’t think you’d come back, actually, after what happened last time.”

“Rome is a big place, Lotor,” Shiro starts, curt and abrasive, like he has no interest in their friendship at all.  “I figured I wouldn’t see you here again, actually, after what happened last time.”

Keith, always as quick in his head as he is on his feet, catches the tone behind Shiro’s words, the history in their stares.  He backs closer into Shiro’s hold, away from a threat he didn’t realise was upon him.

“You know him?” Keith asks, turning in Shiro’s arms so he’s further protected.  Shiro tightens his grip on Keith’s waist.

“Yes.”  Shiro wants to check if Keith is all right, if he’s scared or angry, but knows if he takes his eyes off Lotor even for a second, it could spell disaster for them both.  “Lotor used to work for us; specifically for Zarkon.  He was part of the Galra faction.”

“Head of the Galra, actually,” Lotor cuts in, as if it’s something to be proud of.  “I have to say, I’m a little hurt.  Hearing the great Takashi Shirogane was tying the knot with a boy from the city, and never receiving an invitation?  Rude, honestly.”

Keith stiffens.

“Forgive me.  I might have sent one if you were, at all, on speaking terms with Alfor or his partners.  However, as it is, they’re still a little disgruntled at you for the stunt you pulled in Milan last year.”

Lotor’s eyes narrow.  The events still fresh in both their minds, the gunshots and fire still ricocheting in their memories. 

“Well, it’s a good thing I heard you were honeymooning here of all places.  It made it so much easier to come give you my best wishes.”

“We don’t want them,” Shiro all but growls.

Lotor’s narrow eyes only form into menacing slits, his lips turning into a snarl.

“Careful, Shirogane,” he starts, moving in closer, steadily reaching out an arm.  “I’m responsible for a few of those scars hiding under your shirt.  I could so very easily give you a few more.”

Before Shiro can react, Keith is slapping Lotor’s hand out of the way, his expression morphed into one of pure rage and hatred. 

“Fuck you!” Keith spits.  He might have launched himself out of Shiro’s arms if it weren’t for the already tight hold Shiro had on him.  “How fucking dare you threaten my husband!? Who the fuck do you think you are!?”

Shiro tries to rain him in, to shush and calm him, but he’s nothing if not also surprised at Keith’s sudden outburst.  Keith may be hot-headed, but he’s also a level thinker; two attributes that don’t normally work so well together.  Shiro hadn’t ever known him to jump the gun or make a decision without thinking it through first.

This, however, seemed to be fuelled entirely by a base instinct; a desire and utter need to protect what was dear to him.

“E-excuse me?  Who am I?” Lotor hadn’t expected Keith’s reaction either.  “I’ll have you know I-“

“You’re an asshole is what you are!  Threaten Shiro again, I dare you!  I’ll remove your nose from your face with my teeth!”

“What’s going on here?”

To break up their little tirade is the store manager, the commotion finally having caught his attention and causing him to amble over.  It went silent amongst them, Keith’s breathing heavy and ragged, but finally calming.  Shiro still had a tight hold on him.  Lotor’s face was turning pink as it took everything within him not to attack back.

“My apologies, Sir,” Shiro said, adjusting his hold so he had an arm wrapped around Keith’s shoulders, pushing him toward the store’s entrance.  “We were just leaving.”

Shiro shoves Keith past Lotor, where the two share one final glare at each other before Shiro can cut them off. 

Keith goes, but he goes stubbornly.  He stumbles out of Shiro’s grasp once they reach the street, clutching his hair in irritation and snarling curses under his breath.  Shiro pushes him into an alleyway, lets him run out of steam, and then gathers him in his arms.  Only then does Keith go quietly.

He all but buries his face in Shiro’s chest, hugs himself to board shoulders and whimpers.  Shiro hushes him, hums to him, holds him as tight as he can.  Anything to let Keith feel safe and secure once again.

“Keith,” Shiro starts, trying to find the words and sort through all the questions he’s dying to ask.

“Fucking asshole bitch cunt!” Keith hisses into Shiro’s shirt.

“Keith?”

“I’m so sick of these dickbags!” Keith has pulled away now, only far enough to be able to look Shiro in the eye.  “Who the fuck are these people who think they have something over you?  Who think they can make you feel like shit in broad daylight!?  It’s like we finally get a moment together again, everything’s going great and we’re happy, _you’re_ _happy,_ and then one of these Crocodile Dundee Douchebags swims up the pipe to bite you on the ass!”

Shiro remains quiet.

“First Zarkon!  Then Lotor!  Whose next?!  Should I just shoot them all now so we can finally enjoy just being fucking together again?!  Is that too much to ask!?”

Shiro watches as Keith pants, his face red with exertion, tears pricking the corner of his eyes.  The fight has gone out of him, a shell of a man remaining, leaning heavily against Shiro as he tries not to break.  In that, they are very much the same.

Shiro can only hold Keith to him, hoping for all he’s worth he’s strong enough to keep the pieces together before they fall apart in his arms.

“I’m so sorry, Babydoll.”

“Don’t.” Keith’s not angry anymore, just upset.  His voice thick with tears.  “Don’t say shit like that.  You’re not allowed to be sorry.  None of this is your fault.”

Shiro sighs, pressing his lips to Keith’s head.  Keith sniffles, turns his head so he can face Shiro, and plants a kiss square on his mouth.  Shiro kisses back hungrily, moves a hand to clutch at Keith’s hair, forces his mouth open so their tongues can graze and their lips can smack wetly together. 

They part only when their lungs scream for air and their heads swim with the need for oxygen, but then their foreheads press together, eyes meeting each other’s, lips not far apart. 

“I’m not saying any of this is directly my fault,” Shiro begins, then quickly continues before Keith can go to his defence.  “But I am sorry.  This is the life I lead.  I told you; I’ve made a lot of enemies.  For every one of our allies who showed up at our wedding, there has to be two more enemies waiting in the dark for me to fuck up, for the chance to get me before I can get them.  You’re fortunate enough to not have made a big enough impact on this business yet to have any enemies of your own and, selfishly, I pray it stays that way.”

Keith is silent, only pleading with his eyes for something Shiro is not sure he can ever give. 

“I know all of this,” Keith says, voice but a whisper.  “When I married you, I married your problems.  I married your history and your secrets and even your enemies.  This ring on my finger binds me to you in spirit and in blood.  It gives me certain rights.  And punching certain dickbags right in their fake-ass teeth is one of those rights.”

Shiro has to smile, because Keith is too.

“They were fake, weren’t they?” He laughs, welcoming Keith’s arms as they wind around his neck.

“They were so white I thought I was going to go blind looking at them.  That coupled with his hair?”

And now they’re both laughing, clutching each other in a dark alleyway in the middle of Rome, giggling into each other’s ears and pressing wet kisses to any skin they can reach.

“I love you, Keith Shirogane,” Shiro says, when it’s gone quiet again and there’s nothing left to say but the reminder of what Keith should already know.

“I love you too, Takashi.  You, and everything about you.”

Shiro plants one more kiss on his husband’s perfect lips before pulling him back out into the Roman sun.

\---

They walk in relatively comfortable silence down the street, stopping off at a café to eat and plan their stops for the day.  They plan one or two visits to various monuments, but ultimately wish to have a tour of the catacombs before returning to their hotel for reservations at the restaurant. 

Shiro has the time of his life recording Keith’s reactions, recording him running full-speed through a sea of pigeons, squawking and flapping his arms like he’s one of them.  He watches the clip he manages to get of Keith feeding a stray cat over and over again, loving the way Keith is soft and gentle with it as he lets it eat the last of his crepe. 

His favourites, however, is whenever Keith catches the camera pointed at him.  He’ll turn and grin at the lens, giving Shiro a wide smile and wave at him.  Shiro always gives Keith a wide smile back, the happiness etched in their time together obvious as Shiro rewinds each and every clip he has of his husband.

Sometimes he feels like he’s been given a lifetime of happiness in only a few weeks; someone up there finally realising he’s been shorted all these years and trying to make up for the unfair pay.

“I swear, it has _not_ been three days since we got here,” Keith swears, looking at the date on his watch.  “We can’t have spent a solid 72 hours completely naked, eating nothing but duck and pork crackling and having glorious honeymoon sex.”

“I don’t think anyone will blame us for getting a little carried away,” Shiro laughs, putting the camera away and winding an arm around Keith’s waist.

“ _I_ blame us for getting _more_ than a ‘little carried away’!  It should not have taken us this long to realise we’ve been in Rome for three days, and never even left our hotel room!” 

Keith rolls his eyes as Shiro continues to laugh at him, but keeps his own arm on Shiro’s hip as they walk through a stone archway, the air around them becoming cold and stale.  The feeling of death, which should of long since passed, coming uncomfortably between them.  

The Capuchin Crypt was Keith’s choice of catacombs to visit, and Shiro being Shiro, bought out the whole tour group so they could have it all to themselves.  Though the tour guide had been friendly about it, despite not being used to talking to an unusually small group, Keith could see her twitch uncomfortably from time to time.  Though he shouldn’t blame her; any and all conversation seemed to echo for the whole city to hear in this underground cavern.

Keith gazed around in wonder at the underground grave, at the skull and cross-bones and bony hands covering the room, at the chandeliers remaining unlit for thousands of years, at the robe-dressed skeletons leering off the walls.  He had a smile on his face, a small one Shiro knew was born of fascination and excitement.

“Why don’t you build a place like this?” Shiro felt Keith whisper into his ear.

He chuckled.

“I don’t have the interior decorating skills it would take to design it this artfully.”

“Give Lance the task.  He eats that shit up.”

They giggle against each other, their laughter bouncing off the walls and echoing around them.

The tour guide has kept her distance, preferring to give them some semblance of privacy, though her job prevents her from leaving them alone entirely.

A small breeze blows through the tunnels.  Keith shivers. 

“Hey, it’s okay,” Shiro says soothingly, carefully brushing his thumb over the skin residing under Keith’s shirt.  “You don’t have to be afraid, baby.”

Keith scoffs, though he leans into Shiro’s touch anyway.

“I’m not afraid, Shiro.  They’re just skeletons.”

“These people have been dead for centuries, sweetheart.  There’s nothing to be scared of.”

“I’m not?  Are you even listening to me?”

Shiro comes behind his husband to press kisses to his hair, winding his arms around Keith’s small frame, pulling them close together.  He rocks them slowly, letting the warmth from their bodies intermingle and wind against each other.  He lets out calming noises against Keith’s ear.

Keith only laughs.

“Oh, you’re right,” he begins in a bored voice.  “I’m terrified.  Lifeless bones are my worse fear.  Hold me tighter.  Protect me O, Husband of Mine!”

Shiro laughs alongside him, clutching Keith tighter to himself. 

“As you wish, my love.”

\---

When they get back outside, the sun is already going down, painting the sky a fuchsia pink.  It’s still warm however, but Shiro hasn’t let go of Keith since their time in the catacombs. 

They thank their tour guide, apologise for the inconvenience they might have caused, and head back toward their hotel to change for dinner.  Shiro keeps a firm hold on Keith even in the cab, kisses his neck and lets Keith nod off against his shoulder. 

Once arrived, they take their time getting ready.  Shiro carefully unpacks their purchases from the day and places the camera gently on the small dining table.  This is when he feels arms wind around his stomach, pulling him from their bags and toward the bed.  He laughs as he’s wrestled down onto the sheets, soft kisses placed to the back of his neck.

The nap they share is short but peaceful, Keith solid against Shiro’s back, unmoving.  Shiro has to literally pry his arms open so he can escape when it’s time for them to wake up. 

“No!  Come back puppy!” Keith whines.  Shiro chuckles. 

“Puppy?  Is that my new nickname?”

Keith slowly opens his eyes at this, shining, seemingly purple orbs blinking up at him.

“Why not?  You’re so like a puppy.” 

Shiro isn’t sure whether that’s a hit to his pride or a stroke to his ego.  Is Keith calling him an atrocious leader or a gentle, endearing lover?

Keith is sitting up now, pressing warm kisses to his neck and scratching his hair.

“My puppy.  My big, strong, handsome puppy.” More kisses and scratches and endearing nuzzles into the crook of his neck.  “My puppy who will always protect me and love me and keep me warm and happy.”

Shiro realises his answer when his heart fills with love at the cooing words.

It’s another few long, heated moments before they bother getting ready for dinner.

Keith picks out his clothes and changes in the bathroom because he can’t risk Shiro seeing him naked, less they opt to miss dinner and order room service again after another go under the sheets.

It doesn’t much help, because Shiro constantly forgets how gorgeous Keith can look in a simple, dark dress shirt and a deep, red tie.  The slacks were custom made, so they frame his thighs perfectly and do his ass the justice it deserves.

“I hate you,” Keith is saying as Shiro steps out of the bathroom, after having donned his own formal wear for the evening.  “You can’t possibly look _that_ good in a shirt and tie _and_ choose to be married to me.  It has to be one or the other.”

Shiro pulls on his suit jacket as he walks over to Keith, who is sitting comfortably on the bed.

“Are you saying I should make myself ugly just so I can stay married to you?” Shiro asks, leaning over his husband, giving him a warm, wet kiss.

“Or we can get divorced and you can keep your looks.”

“Which would you prefer?”  Shiro pulls Keith up from the bed so he can fit his hands against the small of Keith’s back.

Keith pretends to think about it.  Looking Shiro up and down, eyeing the crimson shirt stretched enticingly over Shiro’s chest, grabbing the black, silk tie in his hand and using it to tug Shiro down to eye level.

“Okay,” he kisses him.  “You can have both.”  Another kiss.  “But just for tonight.”

Shiro has to laugh against Keith’s lips.

The restaurant they choose is beyond classy.  All the fixtures made out of a black marble, the chandeliers casting a romantic light over the band playing softly in the corner.  Conversations are kept quiet. 

They’re seated at a table near a window overlooking the city, the lights sparkling out of the dark like diamonds, bouncing off The Tiber in the distance.  Shiro moves Keith’s seat so he’s sitting adjacent to his husband and directly in front of the view, rather than having to reach across the table to be able to touch each other.  They’re handed menu’s, each poured a glass of wine and left alone. 

“I know they say money can’t buy happiness,” Keith is saying, leaning over the table so he’s all but a hair’s breadth away from Shiro.  “But it sure as hell helps.”

Shiro doesn’t waste any time closing the distance between them and placing a gentle kiss on Keith’s lips, tightening his fingers around the hand that holds Keith’s.

“I never had a use for my money until you,” he says, stroking Keith’s hand with his thumb.  “I wish you’d let me spend it on you more.”

Keith ducks his head, hair falling between them.  Shiro uses his free hand to push it out of the way so he can see Keith’s face turn pink.

“S’not really necessary anymore, though.  I’m making plenty now that I’m back working for you.”

“You never let me spend a lot on you before, either.”

“I didn’t want a sugar daddy.”

“How about just a doting husband who really loves to spoil his soulmate?”

Keith grins at him.

“You think we’re soulmates?”

Shiro brings their hands off the table and presses his lips to Keith’s fingers, just under his wedding band.

“I’d be hard pressed finding another word for how I feel about you.  How I feel we fit together.”

Keith leans over to kiss Shiro more firmly, more wetly, letting their tongues brush, doesn’t let them separate even when the waiter clears his throat above them, having returned to take their order.

Their food comes and is devoured.  Wine is poured and then disappears.  Keith seems to be edging his chair closer and closer to Shiro’s so he can lie his tired head on Shiro’s shoulder.  Shiro smiles fondly, placing kisses on Keith’s hair, wishing the restaurant wouldn’t close so they could stay in this atmosphere forever.

Then again…

“I can practically _hear_ the gears turning in your head,” Keith grumbles, picking his head up tiredly, giving Shiro a dopy smile.  “You’re not paying the restaurant to stay open all night just for us.”

Shiro can’t help but give Keith a confused look, even though it’s coupled with a grin. 

“How did you…”

“Well your kisses stopped, so you were no longer paying attention to me.  You kept looking at my watch to check the time.  Then you were looking all over the place, probably calculating how many people you’d need to pay overtime to stay.  Your glances started getting quicker.  Looking for the manager?”

Shiro sighs.  Not out of annoyance, no, but out of the overwhelming feeling of joy spreading through his chest, his throat becoming thick with tears as he looks into Keith’s eyes, the violet irises reflecting a very similar look back at him.

“You know me too well.”

Keith hums.  He reaches out a hand to cup the back of Shiro’s head, running fingernails through the undercut found there.

“I just don’t want this night to end,” Shiro explains.

“It doesn’t have to end.  We can go back to the hotel, put on some music, sit in the bath or something.” 

“If we do that we’ll have sex, get tired, fall asleep, and then the night will end.”

Keith can’t help but give Shiro a huge smile, the wine making him a little dopy, but the flush on his cheeks is ever so flattering.

“You, my love, would be the only person on earth too afraid to have sex with his partner because of a thing like that.”  Shiro can only return Keith’s smile.  “There’ll be another tomorrow, remember?”

A pause.  The calm music wafting over them.  The clink of cutlery on china and soft conversation coming from a world not belonging to their own.

“Once upon a time, for us, there wasn’t.”

It’s a sore subject.

It’s _still_ a sore subject.

As it was this morning, as it was six weeks ago when Shiro first returned.  It wasn’t because they were too afraid to talk about it, it’s that they were afraid if they started, they’d never stop.  It’s never good to dwell in distant memories, but it’s not healthy to let them sit either.  Both Shiro and Keith tread the line between the constant need for communication and warily staying away from a subject that could bring them both to ruin. 

On the off chance they do talk about it, on the rare occasion there’s something about that year that Keith needs to relive, to share.  On the sparse moments Shiro remembers something he shouldn’t have but doesn’t feel he can keep it within, they’ll listen.  Of course they will.  That’s what they do.  They’ve been there for each other since the beginning and now, promise sealed with a ring and a kiss and a signature, they’ll be there for each other till the end.

But love isn’t easy.

Yet both are so tired of having to learn this over and over again the hard way.

Keith kisses Shiro.  Hard.  Pressing their mouths together, moving their lips slow and sensual, begging with every thought and subtle action to _forget_. 

Both wish the other to forget that year of hell.

Both know it’s a wasted wish that will never be true.

\---

“Sweetheart, where on Earth are we going?” Shiro laughs, not resisting too hard as his husband drags him along the footpath. 

They had left the restaurant shortly after Shiro’s stark confession, to which Keith had declared he had somewhere he wanted to go and began leading Shiro down several streets and alleyways.  Shiro, blindly trusting Keith knew where he was going, couldn’t help but let the giddiness take over as Keith too, seemed to get more excited the further they went from the centre of the city. 

Keith slowed at Shiro’s question, letting him catch up and beginning to amble aimlessly beside him, keeping their hands intertwined. 

“I dunno.”

Shiro let that sink in, before looking at Keith, his hair fluttering slightly in the breeze, the streetlights illuminating some of the flyaway strands.

“You don’t know?”

Keith looked up at him and shrugged.

“I dunno.”

Shiro wanted to look perplexed, to look confused, but felt like if he did he’d be considered stupid for missing some sort of joke. 

So, they kept walking.  Shiro clutched tighter at Keith’s hand.  Enjoyed the scenery, the sight of a strange city at night.  He enjoyed the warm air.  The sound of their boots against pathways of cobblestone.  He let it all go on around him, Keith by his side, exactly where he belonged.

“You said you didn’t want it to end,” Keith spoke up after a few minutes of walking.  Shiro hummed.  “You said you didn’t want it to end, that if we went back to the hotel room it would end and then you’d be sad.  I didn’t want you to be sad.”

Shiro looks at Keith fully now.

“So, you decided dragging me down random streets and getting lost in a foreign city was a good way to keep the night going?”

Keith looks up at Shiro again. 

“Yeah.  Why not?”

He grins.  Genuine and beautiful and real.  Shiro can only grin back.

He pulls Keith to a stop, only for a moment, to cup Keith’s face and meld their lips together, to loop his arms around a taught waist and squeeze Keith closer. 

“Thank you,” is all he can say.

“You’re welcome,” is all Keith says back.

Some streets are narrow, some streets are wide.  Some are hard to walk on because the cobblestones protrude from the ground so viciously, and others could have been considered as smooth as glass.  They hear music from one street, and follow it around houses and through back streets to another.  They watch on as violinists and a celloist play music to a small crowd.  They never let go of each other. 

They end up joining a group of dancers in a courtyard, not knowing what they’re doing, but making up the steps as they go.  The people around them laugh at their antics, then end up showing them exactly how to do the steps.  It’s hard to understand the instructor with his thick, Italian accent, so he ends up merging their bodies together and then demonstrates with a partner of his own.  Shiro and Keith pick up the steps easily, listening to the voice of a kind girl who tells them it’s easiest if one leads while the other follows.

“You’re such a spitfire until you’re in my arms,” Shiro teases into Keith’s ear.  “Then, suddenly, you’re like a dog with a bone.  So obedient.”

Keith nips at his ear in retaliation.

“I’ll show you obedient, Puppy.”

Shiro laughs as he presses himself closer.  Keith only growls jokingly, happily letting himself get lost in the movements and steps of the dance they share.

They get lost a few more times, discover a late night crepe stand along the way.  Shiro has to duck into a gas station restroom to clean himself up after Keith pushes his nose into the cream and strawberries.  Then Shiro ever so efficiently gets his revenge by dunking Keith’s head into a fountain.

Keith manages to dry himself off (kind of) by nuzzling his sopping, wet hair into Shiro’s shirt.  Shiro ends up giving Keith his blazer, Keith’s form swallowed by the too big jacket.  They laugh, knowing they must be a heck of a sight.  It doesn’t stop Shiro from wrapping Keith in his arms and rubbing their noses together, grinning the entire time.

“Okay, okay.  So, we’ve narrowed it down to five,” Keith is saying, hair frizzing a little now as it slowly dries.  Their hands are interlocked, swaying between them as they casually stroll down a quiet pathway.  The park seems to be abandoned for the night, save for the odd squirrel scurrying across the path, or an owl that hoots in the distance.  “These five are locked.  Can’t be changed.  No take backs.  No arguments.”

Shiro nods in confirmation.

“Okay then, I guess it’ll be,” Keith thinks, hand resting on his chin, looking up at the inky sky above them.  “Teen Titans, Avatar, Xialin Showdown, Danny Phantom then Kim Possible.”

Shiro gasps, imitating betrayal. 

“You’re not seriously going to sit there and tell me five teens who only fight a good sixty percent of the time could seriously take down someone who bends all four elements to his will and regularly transcends the spirit world?”

 “Okay, first, I’m standing!” Shiro goes to ruffle his hair but Keith smartly ducks out of the way.  “Secondly, the Teen Titans did their fair share of supernatural shit!  Pretty sure they could take on Aang even in the spirit world.” 

Shiro scoffs.

“Okay, but are we talking about the entirety of Team Avatar or just the avatar himself?”

“Oh, if we’re talking all of Team Avatar then you’re right, they’d totally win in a winner-takes-all.”

“I _told_ you.”

“Poor Kim.  She never stood a chance.”

“Yes, well.  Being human will do that to you.”

They both laugh, the sound getting lost in the night air, having nowhere else to go as they continue to make their way through the park.

Shiro squeezes Keith’s hand, smiling at the soft expression his husband wears, revelling in the happy aura that surrounds them.  Keith catches him staring, stopping them in the middle of the path and presses their foreheads together.

It’s quiet, so quiet, and it’s how Shiro hears the snap of a twig, the thud of footsteps on damp grass, and the familiar feeling of someone watching them who shouldn’t be.

He thought they were alone.

He had been sure.  You don’t become the leader of a highly respected drug cartel without honing your instincts.  Without knowing exactly how many people are around you at all times.  Shiro swiftly brings Keith to him, shielding his husband as he looks over his shoulder with a will to fight, to protect.

He’s met with darkness.  Empty darkness.

He blinks.

“Shiro?” Keith calls softly, wondering why all the urgency all of a sudden.  “What’s wrong?”

Shiro can hear it in Keith’s voice.  He’s doesn’t sense it either, and Keith’s instincts have grown to be as sharp as his, yet he asks for confirmation before relaxing in Shiro’s hold.

Shiro waits a moment longer, breathing quietly.  Hackles raised, the knife in his belt burning his hip.

Nothing comes.

Shiro lets out a breath.

“Sorry,” he says gently, releasing Keith, turning back to him.  “Thought I felt…saw…someone there.”

Keith looks at him.  Not as if he’s crazy, just concerned. 

“You sure everything’s good?”

Shiro smiles.

“Yes, Gorgeous, I promise.  I’m sorry.  Guess I’m always a bit on edge no matter the occasion.”

Keith offers him a look of acceptance and understanding.  Shiro is sure he’d find no look like that anywhere else.

It’s just them.  The crickets chirping.  The owls cooing.  A car alarm sounds in the far distance.  Yet Shiro can’t bring himself to look away from Keith’s violet eyes, how the irises seem to shine so miraculously even with as little external light as possible.  He get’s lost in those yes, happily so, feeling the warmth that has nothing to do with the summer night air spread throughout his chest.

“Hi,” he says softly, noting Keith’s eyelids flutter as Shiro’s breath washes over him.

“Hi,” he quietly responds.

Their lips meet and just like always, it feels like the first time.  That first hot kiss in the middle of the dancefloor in a club Shiro now forgets the name of.  It feels like he’s being grounded.  Like maybe he had an idea of what his life was doing, but now he’s completely sure he’s where he’s supposed to be.

Keith hums, pulling back, looking dazedly up at him.  Shiro smiles. 

“I love you.  You are my best friend.  My one and only.  My everything,” he brings up their linked hands to softly kiss Keith’s knuckles.

Keith grins.

“You’re everything I could hope for and more.  My world.  My universe,” Keith rises to the balls of his feet to place a kiss neatly on Shiro’s lips.

Shiro cups Keith’s face, now so firmly needing his husband, even as he is right there, it physically hurts to have any space between them.

“You’re my fantasy.”

“The fantasy that came true.”

\---

Keith pulls Shiro hurriedly into their hotel room, already shedding the blazer still around his shoulders.  Shiro lets Keith push him down onto the edge of the bed, where his lap is straddled and he gets to hold Keith close as their lips meet, their bodies twining together, locked away in a world where nobody can reach them.  Shiro hums when Keith’s tongue brushes his, groans when Keith sucks on his bottom lip and grinds his hips down.

Shiro lets his hands trail down Keith’s back, feels Keith shiver against him, wraps his hands around his ass and feels himself almost come undone entirely as Keith pulls away to pant against his neck.  It’s hot and moist, wet lips sucking red spots into his skin, their hands going to places only reserved for them and them alone.

“Baby,” Shiro breathes.  Keith only kisses him hotter, grinds harder.  To which Shiro responds by holding Keith tighter, longer, more desperately and with all the passion he can muster.  “Babydoll.”

Keith whimpers at the nickname.

They manage to pull apart only barely, still sharing the lightest of kisses but strongest of touches.  Panting against each other’s faces.  Shiro rakes a hand through Keith’s still damp hair.  Keith whines against Shiro’s chest.

It’s quiet between them.  Shiro usually can’t say enough about how he feels about Keith, always feels like he needs to tell him, to promise him how much he loves him, but now, for once, he feels finally his actions might just be enough.  Keith pulls his shirt from his shoulders, creamy skin becoming on display for Shiro to see.  Shiro breathes deeply, pushing his nose under Keith’s jaw and kissing the skin hotly.

Keith lets him, all the while fiddling with Shiro’s tie, pulling it loose, then beginning on the buttons and pushing fabric over what feels likes miles and miles of muscle.  Keith shivers, fingers already running over Shiro’s chest and tracing pebbled nipples.

Shiro hisses against his neck.

“How do you want to do this, baby?” Shiro pants.  He shoves his shirt the rest of the way off, yanks the tie over his head, then immediately takes a handful of Keith’s ass, squeezing and groping and lifting his hips to grind together their quickly forming erections.

Keith whines again, hands now resting on Shiro’s shoulders, their heights now perfectly matched so he can look Shiro in the eyes as he speaks.

“I think I want to fuck you.”

Shiro can feel the shiver before it comes.

They take their places quickly, both impatient for what has now been promised.

Keith is between Shiro’s legs, carefully pumping his erection while also scissoring lube drenched fingers inside Shiro’s hole.  Shiro breathes through it, trying to ignore how uncomfortable it feels now, in favour of how good it will feel later.  Keith is smiling down at him, slightly cheeky, but mostly loving.  Shiro melts under the look, feels himself go boneless, cries out when Keith pumps his fingers just right and strokes his cock so perfect.

“God, how long as it been since I’ve seen you like this?” Keith’s voice is breathless, his chest a lovely shade of pink as he continues to gaze down at his husband.

Shiro lets out a breathy laugh.

“A good while.  I can definitely _feel_ how long it’s been.”

Keith chuckles.

“Yes, but now you’ll be so nice and tight for me, Puppy,” he bites his lip.  Hisses when he adds a fourth finger.  Shiro realises Keith hasn’t touched himself yet, his cock red and throbbing just beyond reach. 

Shiro let’s his head fall back against the pillows.

“God, Keith!” He cries as Keith hits his target once again.  “Just get in me.”

Keith pulls his fingers out, stops his ministrations on Shiro’s cock.  He gets up on his knees, reaching over for the lube but not before placing a searing kiss on Shiro’s lips.

He groans.

The first breach isn’t as bad as he thought it’d be, Keith having stretched him thoroughly.  Keith still moves slow though, running soothing hands up and down his trembling thighs, shushing him, whispering sweet words and promises.  Shiro shivers, trembles, under Keith’s grip.  Under his gaze. 

And it’s good.  So good, Shiro can’t see or think or feel beyond his beloved pushing into him, fingers tweaking his nipples, dark hair tickling his chin and face as Keith thrusts powerfully between his legs.  Shiro rakes his fingers down Keith’s back, let’s their lips meet in a hungry kiss born of passion and unwavering loyalty, love and a lust so burning deep even Hell itself couldn’t rival it.

Keith has to break away from the kiss to breathe, to grunt and groan.  Shiro throws his head back, spreads his legs wide and lets the feeling of being stretched and having his hole abused wash over him, filling his limbs and chest and head like he belongs in this moment. 

He does.

He does so much.

“Fuck, Keith!” Shiro cries as Keith finds his prostate and aims true.  He chants his husband’s name as it’s the only prayer he’ll ever know. 

The bed creaks and rocks under them.  Their cries fill the room.  Shiro has to hold onto the headboard when Keith plants his foot flat on the bed, using the leverage to thrust harder, faster, firmer into him.  Shiro yells, his back arching into it.

Keith bites Shiro’s chest, growls his name, grips a muscled hip with one hand and his cock with the other.

“Shiro,” Keith’s voice is strained now, his back dripping with sweat, his hair a mattered mess on his forehead.  Shiro isn’t any better off.  He can feel his hair stay back when Keith cards fingers through it, the flush in his face and limbs getting to him as their climax fast approaches.

“I’m not gonna last any longer,” Keith pleads, as if he would ever need permission.  His pace quickens, both his hips and the hand wrapped firmly around Shiro’s dick.

Shiro groans, somehow spreads his legs that little bit more, holding Keith’s face as their lips clash together again.

Keith comes with a shout, his orgasm taking him body and soul, his entire being convulsing as he gasps and let’s his thrusts slow, emptying his cock into Shiro.  Shiro welcomes the feeling of hot cum filling him, gapes like a fish as his eyes roll back into his head as his own orgasm rocks him.  Keith sinks his teeth into his neck, bites down hard, whines as he cums, long and hard.

Shiro’s own cock spurts against his stomach, cum splattering onto his chest.  His orgasm has left him breathless, starring wide-eyed at the ceiling.  It’s not until Keith is slowly pulling out, hissing slightly, does he come back to himself. To their hotel room, to his husband.

He pants harshly, chest rising and falling, arm lifting weakly towards Keith, who is hobbling his way to the bathroom for a wash cloth already.

Shiro tries not to be hurt.

“Do that later, Gorgeous,” Shiro calls, sitting up on his elbows, desperately wanting to curl around Keith’s form and kiss him until the sun rises.  Keith walks back into the room, seeming to hurry now.

“No, I need to do it now,” his face is set, determined.  He returns to the bed and begins wiping down Shiro first, careful around his oversensitive cock, at his now red hole that still leaks cum even as Keith tries his best to clean it thoroughly.  Shiro is confused, but lets him work.

Keith finishes wiping down Shiro with one towel, then uses another to dab the worst of the sweat from his forehead and chest.  Then Keith cleans himself much faster, making sure he’s thorough but rushes to fix himself and then tosses the towels toward the bathroom.

“There.”  He says it so finally.

Then Keith is crawling with great speed up Shiro’s body and slams their lips together so fast Shiro is forced back onto the pillows.  Keith whines desperately, hands winding around Shiro’s neck and clawing at his back.  Shiro only returns his desperation, crushing their naked bodies together, revelling in all the warmth and love and passion he finds there.

“Aww, sweetheart,” Shiro coos, pushing Keith’s hair out of his eyes so he can gaze into his face, which is pouting up at him like a child.  Shiro tries not to laugh, but fails.  “What was all that about?”

Keith only nuzzles closer, gentle kisses placed on his chest.

“If we cuddled right after, then I only would’ve had to separate from you later to clean.  This way, I can just hold you all night with no interruptions.”

Shiro laughs warmly at this. 

“Of course, my love,” Shiro strokes Keith’s hair and his back.  Their legs tangle together, their gasping breaths finally abating as they calm from what has to be one of the best fucks of their honeymoon.  “I can’t possibly argue with that.”

Keith rests his head on Shiro’s chest, breathing even and slow.  Shiro cards his fingers down Keith’s back, counting the bones he can feel in his spine carefully, then tracing the muscles as he trails his fingers back up.  They lie there in silence, happy and warm.  Keith adjusts slightly, hugging Shiro tighter.

It’s then that the sun peaks over the horizon, beginning to fill the sky with a soft, yellow light.  The inky black starts to fade, and the air goes slightly colder.  Shiro pulls a blanket up over his husband, kisses his forehead, goes back to tracing patterns into his skin.

“I’m still scared,” Keith speaks up, breaking the peaceful silence. 

Shiro doesn’t stop petting him, only rolls onto his side so he can slide an arm around Keith’s waist and pull them tight against each other.

“Of what, Sweetheart?”

“Of waking up without you again.”

Shiro swallows.

“Of this being all a dream,” Keith continues.  His breath fans Shiro’s face as he speaks.  “What if I’m just really fucked up, lying on my bathroom floor in my shitty Orlando apartment, having a really, _really_ long trip?  A really good one.”

Shiro doesn’t know what to say, only tucks Keith under his chin and holds him as tight as he can.

“Shiro,” Keith pleads, his voice so tight and so soft, Shiro can feel his heart breaking, even as he holds the pieces in his arms.  “If this is some kind of dream, and I wake up from all this, I’m not going to be able to go back to being without you.”

Shiro kisses his hair.

“You won’t have to, Babydoll.  I promise.  I’m here.  Right here.”

He can’t see it, but he can feel Keith’s small smile against his chest, lets Keith nuzzle that little bit closer, and holds onto him for dear life.

\---

Shiro wakes up some time around noon, feeling slightly dirty still, a little stiff and very hungry.  Those crepes they had in the park feel like weeks ago, rather than only a few hours.  He looks to Keith, who is back resting on his chest, face at peace as he snoozes through the day.  Shiro carefully brushes his hair from his face, kisses his nose, and slides out from under him ever so carefully.  He must have been so much more exhausted than Shiro had first imagined, as he doesn’t stir at all.

After swiftly showering, ransacking his suitcase for a clean set of clothes and slipping his wallet and phone into his pocket, he wanders back over to push Keith’s hair out of the way so he can kiss him on the forehead.  Keith only stirs minutely this time, mumbling under his breath.

“I’m going to go for a walk, okay Keith?  I’ll bring back food.” 

Keith breaths deeply and hums a reply.  Shiro gives him another kiss for good measure, then quietly exits the room.

He’s thankful it’s slightly cloudy as he heads toward a panini restaurant they had tried when they first got to Rome.  He’s careful with his choices, juggling in his head which one he feels like versus which one matches Keith’s picky eating habits.  He ends up buying two, deciding Keith can have his pick and thanks the waitress when he’s handed his order.

Just as he heads back toward the hotel, he can feel the first spits of rain fall descend from the sky.  Normally, it wouldn’t bother Shiro.  He enjoys the rain, and with the summer making it a warm shower rather than a brisk chill, it’s rather pleasant to feel on the back of his neck.  Though this time he has food to protect and a husband to return to, so picks up his pace as he heads down the street.

The hotel lobby is just as empty as it was when he first made his way through it.

“Ah!  Mr. Shirogani!” A voice calls.

Shiro stops, smiling at the concierge.

“Your friend stopped by!  He seemed in a bit of a rush.  Did not stay long.”

Shiro gives him a confused look.

“Friend?  What friend?”  Even as he says it, though, he can feel the sick feeling of dread filling his stomach.  He tries to reason with himself, that it could be Allura or Lance or any of the gang passing through.

“Not sure, had not met him before.  Said you two were close!  He is pale?  Long hair, sharp eyes.  Scary to look at, honestly,” the concierge says with a chortle, though Shiro was already racing for the elevator.

He smashes the button and curses at the contraption as it slowly makes its way to the penthouse suite on the top floor. 

It couldn’t be.  He wouldn’t try something so risky.  Not here.  Not after last time.

The elevator reaches his floor not soon enough.  He scrambles to put his keycard in the lock, panic rising when the little light finally turns green and allows him access.  

And he almost throws up on the spot.

The room has been turn upside down.  A fight had clearly taken place.  A broken mirror, a splintered chair.  The wine bottle they had left open had been tipped over, wine dripping out and staining the carpet.  The coffee table had been smashed in half, blood dripping off its corner.  Whose it was, Shiro couldn’t guess. 

The bed.  The bed was viciously empty.  Sheets discarded in a rush, pillows thrown to the floor.  Pale and wrinkled, and holding no sign of Keith. 

Yet amongst the chaos the room held, there was only one item standing upright in its place.  Their camera.  Still standing neatly on the dining table, the little light beside the lens flashing red, showing it was still recording.

Shiro dropped the food he had somehow kept a grasp on and lunged for the camera, stopping its recording and immediately rewinding to the beginning of the session.  He went too far, Keith’s laughter and shrieking from that morning playing briefly, his smile visible through the cacophony of frames as Shiro fast forward once again.

“Shirogane,” the voice said through the little speaker, the quality making it seem tiny, yet it still managed to fill Shiro’s veins with ice.  Lotor’s face winked up at him from the viewport, too smug for someone who may have just kidnapped someone he definitely shouldn’t have.  Lotor held the camera at arms length, the view of him jostling as he walked around the room recording himself.  Shiro could see snippets of the room behind him, realising this had been recorded after the struggle.  Just before he got back.  “I hope this finds you.  I did consider writing a letter, and mailing it to you in a few days, with a finger or something, but thought this might be better.  After all, now you can _see_ the damage your feral stray has done.”

Then Lotor turns the camera, revealing Keith, held to his knees by his hair, a knife at his throat and a gun pressed to his temple.  His nose is bleeding, his eye is a mottled purple, turning black, his chest already covered with cuts and grazes which Shiro knew would bruise in only a matter of hours.  At least Lotor had the decency to wrap him in a sheet before recording, but Shiro couldn’t imagination the humiliation Keith must have felt at the time, having all this done to him while at his most vulnerable.

“Say hi, Kitten!” Lotor leered, zooming in on Keith’s face.  Keith only gave the camera a look of anger, a look of utter rage and defiance.  But Shiro knew, Shiro knew he would be shaking with fear under it all. 

Keith said nothing.

“Now c’mon,” Lotor cooed, “Don’t you want your precious hubby to hear your voice?”

Keith only continued to stare in silence.

Apparently, Lotor didn’t like this, showing his annoyance by giving Keith a swift kick to the ribs.

“Keith!” Shiro gasped, strangling the camera in his grasp as he felt rather than saw, Keith spluttering and gasping, wheezing through the pain.  Blood dripped from his nose as he was forced to bend forward.

“What about now, Kitten?  Gonna do as I say?”

Keith only wheezed, trying to get the air back into his lungs. 

Shiro’s teeth ached with how hard he was clenching his jaw.

“Fuck you,” Keith spat.

Shiro wished he hadn’t, if only to not have to witness the onslaughts of kicks and punches that followed.  Each fist that thudded against skin, each bone that seemed to crack under the pressure, each whimper and gasp of pain that Keith tried to hold in had Shiro gripping the camera tighter and tighter until the screen began to crack under his prosthetic’s strength. 

Shiro had to will himself, to force himself to let go, but he was shaking.  His ears were ringing and his chest was tight.

There was a blur as Lotor spun the camera back around so it was focused on his face once again.

“Your play thing is defective, Shirogane.  Hope you don’t mind we fix him for you!”

The recording stopped with Lotor winking at the lens, his arrogance clear in the still frame. 

Shiro couldn’t help himself.  He threw the camera at the wall in blind rage, crying in hurt and regret as he did.

His anger wouldn’t subside.  His chest would not stop heaving.  His head would not stop spinning.  He clutched at his temples, forcing himself to his knees just as Keith had been, sobbing into the carpet as he realised he had done it again.  He had left Keith alone and now Keith was the one paying for it.

Yet even as the images of Keith being torn apart by fists and boots played over in his head, he could still see snippets of something else, something better, something warmer.

Keith, laughing and squawking like a pigeon as he chased them off the road.  Keith, imitating a fountain, not putting enough force behind his stream and ending up with water and spit all down his front.  Keith, holding a cybernetic hand, pulling the owner along as he raced toward a market stall, wanting to try on all the different hats and scarves they had on display.

Shiro slowly played through it all in his mind, realising that no, this was not the same as last time.

Because this time Keith knew he was coming for him, knew he would stop at nothing short of the world caving in on itself to find him, to hold him again and bring him home safe.  Keith had his every faith Shiro would avenge him.

Shiro would not let him down.  Would not let Keith sit in fear and wonder, questioning his beliefs and faith in the man he had promised himself too.  This time, he was not alone.

Shiro pushed himself up from the floor, yanking his phone from his pocket and speed-dialling the only people he knew who would do everything in their power to help bring Keith home.

The person picked up on the second ring.

“Shiro!  We’re so happy to hear from you!  How’s Rome?  How’s married life?  Give me all the goss!  I’m especially interested in heari- Oh, Lance!  You’ll get your turn!  Let me talk!”  There was a moment of bickering as Allura fought with her boyfriend, a muffled sound of other voices mixing as she did.  Finally, it settled, and there was a humming sound before a clack, like she was putting the phone down.

“Okay!  Because nobody learnt patience as a child, you’re on speaker phone!  Say hi to the gang!”

Shiro made sure he had everyone’s attention before speaking.

“Blue, fire up the jet.  I need everyone here by tonight.  Green, bring every gadget you have, even the ones that haven’t been invented yet.  Yellow, I want you to call every mob and cartel we know in the area and have them ready to go at my command.  If they argue, remind them they owe us.  All of them.  Coran, call the airport.  Make sure we have every available person we know watching security.  I don’t want anybody leaving the country whose not supposed to be.  Pink?”

There was only a moment of silence on the other end, everyone quickly coming to terms with the fact that this was no courtesy call filled with stories and anecdotes of their honeymoon.

“Yes, Black?” Allura had her mission voice on. 

“Tell your father Lotor is back, and he’s crossed a line.”

**Author's Note:**

> :^)


End file.
